The Anger Within The Burn
by Ra Sadistic One
Summary: Sequel of sorts to The Darkness Behind the Perfect Killer. Sesshoumaru is 23, looks younger than that  please do note is not looks like. Predates series by far. Part 2 of 4, Darkness Trilogy.


The Anger Within the Burn

I swear silently to myself as I miss the parry again. My concentration is off, though there is no reason I can fathom for it to be so. My attacks are off as well. I do not know what is wrong this morning, but I will not let it pass. "I apologize, Sensei.. I do not know what is with me this morning." I am actually staring at the sword in my hands, completely unable to meet his gaze.

I feel his eyes on me, and he must have had an inkling of a thought for he let me go without an excuse or even finishing practice. This morning, however, I am not going to be one to ask, so I simply bow and take my leave after I place my practice sword in its place against the wall.

I wander the halls slowly, almost aimlessly on my way to my next lesson. The odd sensation in the pit of my stomach is rather irksome, if you ask me... but no one ever asks me. Because of it, I almost miss the door to the library, and my next lesson. It annoys me that it takes most of my concentration to ignore this sensation, which after much deliberation I've decided is warmth, heat, and something else, all mixed together. And I realize that it's worse now than it was this morning for practice, even if only a little...

What? I'm early? Or is that pay attention? I blink at my Sensei in confusion then realize I have been staring out the window for some time, and it must have been starting to get under his skin. I turn to actually face him, giving him my full attention. Or as much of it as my rebelling body will allow of me.

Mostly. I hear the others in the back whispering, and one of my ears turn back slightly to catch what they're saying. I know Sensei knows this. I also know that by now most of the castle has probably heard of my strange behavior. I would at least like to know what they are saying about me.

I look up at my Sensei, but my head spins slightly. Kuso... He sees it in my eyes. He also sees the warning I place there now. He is not to say a word while others are in the library. Which reminds me. What _are _they saying? Heat cycle? Me? That can't be right... I am not even nearly old enough... I'm hardly twenty-three.. Unless...

I'm grateful that Sensei chooses now to shoo everyone out of the library. It allows me to finish my train of thought in peace. Because this shouldn't happen... unless it's his fault for taking me so early.. so often.. like his own personal whore. I sincerely am still amazed that no one has found out. Though they will shortly... As it is the only reason why this could happen so... soon. All my teachers know this. All his advisors know this. Everyone in the castle knows this... though it won't stop them from giving me to him yet again. For who can sincerely stop a crazed mad man? One who is their leader... and in the right mind in seemingly everything else, no less?

My head falls to my arms and I silently cry without tears. It doesn't help that this feeling in the pit of my stomach is still getting worse, and that it is starting to spread to the rest of my body. It feels so hot... Damn him... It's all his fault... So hot... I whimper slightly, a near inaudible sound, knowing they are right, and that he damned me to this... that I did nothing to stop it. I hate you father...forever.

It's all I can do to hear them as they speak, but it's still hard to understand. What I do understand makes my skin crawl. The rest of it pieces together in my muddled brain.

"Go and get the boy's Father..."

And Sensei even says it with a smile. That makes me sick...

"No..." The tears actually fall from my eyes this time. I almost can't stand it anymore, but I know that the hushed, pained whine that just falls from my slightly swollen lips as well as the tears make him blanch. I think he finally realizes what he just did. I will be raped, yet again... Have yet another thing stolen from me by this so called great man. And all the while someone was there to stop it... they only encouraged it without knowing. Until it was too late to do a damned thing.

He's staring at me. Why is he staring at me? Oh. He's going to talk to me. He just isn't sure how to say it. He knows he just condemned me and is sending me off to my doom. Thank you, Sensei. Now should I bow? My turn to sob.

"..Se-Sesshoumaru-sama..."

The way he's looking at me. He actually looks like he's on the verge of tears. He still doesn't have a clue of the hell I've been through in the last twelve years because of his lord. I sob again. And this time, he actually does start to cry.

"I... I didn't know..."

I almost choke on a laugh, but finally get a hold on some of the emotions that this damned cycle doesn't want to let me keep in check. Good, no more tears. Bad, still shaky breath. "No one did, Sensei. And no one will do anything to stop him; it's not like they can. Don't lose your job for me because of some useless endeavor. He is your Lord as much as I hate him for all he's done..." I trail off, my voice bitter and angry, not only at him, but at myself. "You will serve him as loyally as if this had never happened. Do you understand?" My voice is cold, biting, and my eyes hold the smoldering hatred and anger I have for my so called father.

He flinches at the sound of my voice and the look in my eyes, but I know he will obey. If not, his words say it all the more clearly for me. "Hai, Sesshoumaru-sama.. Though my loyalty will stay true if only for your safety, or what little I can help.." His eyes are downcast, ashamed.

"My father is coming..." It is the only way I know how to say thank you, and this he knows, for he offers a small smile before that sickly smile of his goes back in place to greet my father. I merely hide my face in my arms again and want to cry. This time though, it is because my body aches and burns so much worse. And I know it is because of my father.

I can feel his eyes roaming over me. He acts as if they aren't there... though it's not like he needs to any longer. It's like he's undressing me with his eyes...again... It's all I can do to not choke on another sob. At least my hair is in my face, and my bangs are in my eyes, obscuring me from view should he wish to move to this side of the room. At least he is at my back, though that is bad enough, believe you me... it is more than terrible and horrific enough. I swear it's traumatizing or something as well. And the terrifying thing is, he speaks to the one that went and fetched him without ever tearing his unnerving, heated gaze from my form, conveniently seated at the table.

"Escort him to his chamber. See to it that he's comfortable, and stays in bed..."

There is some underlying meaning in that. I don't know what it is.. but quite obviously, I will find out soon enough. The ..guard's.. words are lost on me as I continue sitting in my spot, unmoving as ever, trying to ignore my father, and trying to not scream, or cry, or attempt to kill him or myself in the process.

And just when I am about to break, his presence is gone completely from my senses. He's not even in the hallway any longer. If I still had faith in any gods, I might thank them, but I do not. That was lost the night I lost my virginity to him. I smirk, mostly to myself, but my Sensei, and another of my teachers who happen to walk in to check on me, I'm sure, sees it as well. How twisted. I hate you, father. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. Ihateyou. I. Hate. You.

So depraved as to fuck your own son. To rape him and beat him till he bleeds himself unconscious. To ravish him till his claw marks are engraved deep into the walls and the floor tiles, no matter how many times you try to replace or fix them, and the acidic poison seeps in small holes, cracks, and crevices on any – no, _every_ surface of the room...

Because you like the rush of power, don't you father? Well, let me tell you... Some day I won't be your little whore. I won't be some fuck toy forever, daddy. And when the time comes, I will cherish your death and the fine wine that makes up your life's blood. And though today you will feast yourself on my skin.. and gorge yourself on my body... I will win the war.

"I will win the war...father.." I whisper softly to myself, confirming my thoughts. The dark, twisted smile still on my lips.

My teachers are staring at me in horror. Especially Sensei. He knows so much more. He knows my deep seated hate. He knows it was rape. He knows it was completely and utterly nonconsensual all these long years... though he might not know how long 'these long years' truly is.

I look straight at him and finish in the same soft whisper, twisted smile still in place. "Someday I will do it... and I will win.." I know Sensei knows what I mean by the glint in my eyes. I will kill him..

My eyes fall and the smile disappears as the guard reenters. My other teacher has no time for a reaction as I get dragged off, no emotion showing on my face. It is apparent that I don't want anything to do with my father, but it is also apparent I like the prospect of my room, clearly hoping I can lock myself inside. To be alone. Away from him.

No such luck of being alone. The guard has shackles in his hands and is sitting on my hips. This does not bode well for me. I sigh, make myself comfy, then go limp.

The guard simply stares at me in absolute shock. "Sesshoumaru-sama?"

"You were sent here with an underlying purpose. I do not wish to anger my father any today. Please. Just do your job and leave me in peace..."

Though he is still staring at me like I grew a third arm or a second head, he shrugs. "You probably won't like it, Sesshoumaru-sama. So please... I can't afford to lose my job, or my life..." He is pleading with me with his eyes. He knows it is wrong. He hates doing it, I can tell. But he is right. He has no reason to die because of me.

I stare at him with unblinking eyes. "It isn't your fault. There really isn't a fault... other than mine, apparently." After that I avert my eyes from his so apologetic ones.

He strips me of my clothes methodically, folding everything neatly and setting it aside when he is done. Then he takes the bit of chain he had put aside, and with unshed tears in his eyes he places the bindings around my slender wrists before he attaches it a small ring on the wall just above where my pillow is on the futon. He looks at my face when he is finished, a few of his unshed tears seriously threatening to fall. "He said the only thing I could offer you was the thin sheet..."

"It is alright. He would only rip it from my body anyway." With that I avert my eyes once again. Though I finally understand father's lude comment about my being comfortable, as my body is no where near as heated as it was. At least for now. I look up slightly when I smell his tears. I did not mean for that to make him cry... it was only the simple truth.. But when I go to tell him this, he seems to realize, and leaves.

I cannot help but stare after him as he practically runs away. I know what he must think of me and it makes me sad. He was looking at all the scars on my small frame... He was looking at the way my hair fell around my body, spreading down around my waist before fanning out slightly. He thinks of me as some caged and broken angel. I could see it in his eyes, the way he wanted so badly to cry... The way he almost did when he saw the way he had bound me...and noted my shamelessness to it. It almost breaks what little is left of my ravaged heart. I am no angel... though at my still so young and tender age..one would think i should be...

I stare at my ceiling and the random acid spots on it for what seems like an hour, though it's probably only about twenty minutes. I smell him before he even gets to my door, the smell making me wrinkle my nose like it is some thick miasma. I know he is finally coming to take everything that should belong to me, from me. Again. Though I don't know if he will mark me again. Probably not as he has no reason to... I hope not. But it's not like he hasn't done worse.

He walks in. I hope he realizes I am still not talking to him. Looks like I will find out soon enough.

"Morning to you, Sesshoumaru."

I do not answer. I simply look up at him. I have long since lost my shame, for it is a hard thing to keep when your innocence is ripped from you again and again and again...

"It seems you still aren't talking to me..."

He almost looks sad. What in seven hells? Why would he be sad about his free fuck not talking to him? I suppose I will at least show him my confusion. Yes, he sees it. I know he does.

"A son should talk to his Father, Sesshoumaru."

"You don't see me as your son and you never have. We both know this." I narrow my eyes at him. He is up to no good.

"Ah, but you are my son.." He has a devious smirk upon his twisted lips. He nicks his wrist with one of his fangs and forces it down to my lips. His other hand is over my jaw, holding my jaws as far apart as he can manage. "You will have who you are... but you will never be rid of me, Sesshoumaru. Nor will you ever have the strength to best me in battle. You will always be a prince... but one whose life belongs to me, in servitude. Now swallow this precious gift of freedom I give to you freely."

I practically gag on the crimson liquid he spills into my unwilling mouth, but he clenches my jaw shut and forces me to swallow with a punch to the gut. I am surprised at how gentle it is considering he is the one who just gave it to me, but I dare not say a word.

My stomach burns as its only contents is my father's blood. Though I'm sure that will soon change to 'my father's blood and come' quite soon enough. I know that was exactly what he was thinking as he locks my door, and swiftly moves to place his clothes near mine.

"Be thankful for my good mood, my little bitch in heat..."

He smirks quite proudly at himself for that one, though I find no humor in it whatsoever. Very funny, father, ha ha. I think he's disappointed in my lack of response. As is often the case much of late. Most of what he does just fails to get a response out of me anymore. Pain is nothing anymore father. You made it that way. You make me feel nothing. Is this what you want?

He moves to kneel over me, his thighs on either side of my head. Nothing is required of me right now. He simply doesn't want it. He roughly opens my mouth again, this time thrusting his hard cock inside. I don't even so much as flinch anymore. I simply let him use me. Now is not the time to break down or freak or anything like that. Now is just nothingness. He made me that. He still makes me this. It's what I am. I hardly notice as I almost gag. Not like I'd care if I did. Seriously. Did we look at my life here? He roughly grabs my head, his fingers painfully twining in my hair. He must be close. This has got to be the most disgusting breakfast I've been fed in a long time...

He pulls away slowly, making sure I lick away every last drop. Filthy much? Whatever. It's not like it matters any anyhow.

My stomach churns again as his essence mixes with his blood, both said contents of churning stomach being jarred when he finally lets go of my hair. I feel sick, light headed, and rather like I'm on fire. I swear it's because my father is flooding my ravaged, marked senses. I hate you with all my life, father, and this changes nothing. If it does, it makes it worse.

He moves back down, pinning some of his weight on my hips. Just because I am twenty-three doesn't mean my body has aged much in these last twelve years, father... You should know.

"You know, Sesshoumaru... I think I will make you enjoy this. It will make this all the more sweet when you scream for me."

Enjoy this? How can anyone enjoy rape? All I do is narrow my eyes at him.

Apparently it increases his resolve.

He lowers one of his hands gently to my chest, tracing soft patterns down my abdomen and stomach, down my thigh, then across to the other and back up that one to trail back up my stomach, and abdomen... His fingers light a fire on my skin. And I realize that he is taking advantage of my helplessness, and my oversensitive body, both due to my heat cycle... both heightened even more because it is the first.

I stare at him with cold eyes full of hatred as he plays with my nipples. My body so craves this attention he seems to know how to give it. But I do not want it. I would rather die. I have to bite my lip as he replaces his hands with his hot, wet mouth.. I understand, father. I really do. And although what you did before was unforgivable, this.. this... is.. beyond that... Hate cannot encompass what it is that I feel for you. Animosity is too kind a word for you, father dearest. You will never know what part of hell you've cast me into until you've died and gone there yourself. I could never do this the justice it deserves, so I will let whatever Gods you believe in take you there themselves.

He moves his head up to kiss me, though I don't know why. His hands are moving lustily over my chest and sides, though they settle on my hips. His thumbs are stroking my hipbones as his lips trail down my jaw and neck. His mouth hovers over my collarbone, the one nearest to the side of my neck he was playing with. He licks over the skin, making more flames dance under his touch, then he softly, teasingly blows over it, sending a slight chill up my spine. I simply continue to glare at him. I hope he knows I hate him. I hate him so much it hurts...

Hurts... oh, it aches... He's staring at me, a laughing look in his eyes. Oh, does it burn... It actually burns as badly as I hate him... That is so not fair... I guess I will just have to hate you more... But it burns more... I want to cry. It hurts.. Why did you do this to me, father? Do you love my pain so much? Do you get off of it so easily? Does it really make you that hard, daddy?

He must see the anger that yet still lingers in my eyes. He backhands me and abruptly sits up. He spreads my legs wide, leaving me open to him and anything he comes up with on the spur of the moment – almost never a good thing, as it usually ends with blood, more often than not mine, and me in lots of pain. And just because I can take pain does not mean I like it. He pushes two of his fingers inside my mouth, obliging me to lap at them before he pulls them out again.

My eyes widen as they trace along my entrance softly before pushing inside. My heart nearly stops as he repeats this action a few more times. It is impossible to help the hitch of breath as he pushes his fingers completely inside me...and I don't know why.. I only know that it pisses me off even more that I cannot help this... feeling. He pulls his fingers back to just push them back in, a little harder, a little deeper, enabling himself to softly stroke so deep within me... I want to cry... Why did he have to find that... so soon of all things? Another twinge of pleasure spirals up my spine as I fight to hold back a soft moan.

He finally pulls his fingers away, but he is pushing himself against me almost as soon as they leave me. I want to die as a small whine escapes my swollen lips while he eases his tip inside me. It is unbelievable how he can make my body betray me... it is so disgusting that it had to be now he chose...

He waits for my body to get used to just his tip inside me. I don't understand even his patience, seeing as it is his heat cycle as well. When he decides that he's waited long enough, he thrusts hard, his renewed lust burying itself within me completely in that one shove forward. It makes me cry out softly, music to my father's keen ears, I'm sure...

He thrusts sharply again, this time aiming for my prostate. It makes me cry out a little louder... Kuso! Why can't I stop myself?! I hate this! It's not fair! It's not fair... He will not stop... He will not relent... And I can't do anything at all... And he seems to relish in the fact that I cry out or moan every time he hits my prostate... Damn him.. It's all his fault in the first place...

I feel the tears in my eyes when I feel his hand on me. I do not want this, as usual. Only this time I do not want the pleasure, either. At least I do not want to feel it from him. He twists it, distorts it, scars it... makes it pain and agony instead of pleasure. It's sick... I don't want to feel this... And I feel myself crying...

He is actually making me cry again. He stares for a few moments, then jerks me harder. Good, let him think I am crying because of his sick twisted pleasure. I am most certainly not... I can only hope that in the morning things will go back to normal... Pain I can handle much better than his sick, demented pleasures...


End file.
